


Copy That

by AdelineAround



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Office, Cunnilingus, Flirting, Human Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Lingerie, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Office Sex, Power Dynamics, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Sex, secretary connor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-09-26 09:11:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20387257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdelineAround/pseuds/AdelineAround
Summary: Hank and Connor just can't seem to keep their hands off each other, even at work.Stealthily, they must find some time to sneak away from prying eyes, especially when there is a close call by the copy machines.





	Copy That

**Author's Note:**

> Happy HankCon Reverse Big Bang Week.  
This was hell trying to get together, but I'm glad Ruse and I collaborated together to make something tantalizing.
> 
> Please follow Ruse @boisteruse on twit to support his splendid artwork.

Finding Hank Anderson is almost too easy of a feat, standing in the room all alone.

Eyes as sharp as a hawk’s, he locks in on his target. The sound of the copy machine whirring masks and dampens his already light footsteps, coming ever nearer his prey. Connor wills his breath to slow, to diffuse silently. His heartbeat pounds in his ears, sympathetic nervous system running rampid as he closes in on his catch.

With the grace of a panther, Connor sidles up against Hank, pressing his front with the man’s back and goes in for the swoop: he wraps both arms around the girth of Hank’s hefty waist, feeling it with the palms of his hands before delving lower. He can feel the man freeze, stiffen for a second, before relaxing into a comfortable, slightly slouched posture.

“Hey,” Connor says simply.

Hank chuckles. “Didn’t think you were that quick with the paperwork. It’s barely eleven o’clock.”

“I was able to divvy it up earlier last week,” explains Connor, his lips curling into a smirk as his hands continue their travel. “Is that a problem, _sir_?”

Connor sneaks his left hand into Hank’s pants pocket, nimble fingers squeezing the strong muscle of Hank’s thighs before brushing against the thing he craves most… A soft groan whistles its way out of Hank’s mouth, blowing through the gap between his incisors as Connor teases him through his slacks, gliding along the length of the man’s stiffening cock that begins to form and twitch. He reaches back, placing his hands on top of Connor’s wrists for added effect. Connor moans, as if he is the one being stroked when it is Hank that pulses in his hand. Hank lets him go on for a little longer before he draws back. He turns to the side, away from Connor’s grasp, before facing him.

When Connor visibly pouts, Hank smiles. “No, not at all. You know I can always count on you, Connor,” he says and observes the way Connor beams. “But, since you’re so nifty at paperwork, why don’t I give you another task?”

Connor quirks a brow, face stretching into a smile. What could Hank possibly want to assign him next?

“Anything for the boss, _boss_. What did you have in mind?” he says, but his tone is anything but professional.

Hank is no idiot. He clearly knows what Connor wants and expects to happen; for Hank to take him to the restrooms and fuck him senseless, but the man has more class than that. Instead, Hank suggests, “Why don’t you retrieve that briefcase of mine from my safe? We can go over its contents in my office.”

“That sounds complicated,” Connor tests in defiance of Hank’s proposal. He leans forward, crowding Hank once again. The glint in his eyes is devilishly bright. “Why don’t we stay here and discuss whatever you’re trying to do right now?” His hands are moving again, trailing up Hank’s shirt-clad belly in wispy, fleeting touches that is bound to drive his boss wild.

Contrary to Connor’s plan, Hank does not succumb to his actions. One moment, he is walking fingers up the large expanse of Hank’s abdomen; the next, Connor is shoved off-kilter, arms folded behind his back, bent at the waist with his face against the copy machine’s scanner glass. He is slammed down against it so fast that Connor is taken aback, gasping in surprise as the machine engulfs the whole right side of his face with a bright, white wand of light.

He stays absolutely still. Blood pumps rapidly in his ears, muffling the sound around him as he begins to breathe a little faster, obviously aroused. Between his legs, he can feel himself becoming a little damp from the excitement of it all.

“Watch where you are, boy,” Hank warns low and gravelly in Connor’s ears. The man shivers in his grasp as he tightens his hold on Connor’s forearms. “You’re going to fetch that briefcase for me and come to my office. Do I make myself clear?”

It is completely silent, save for the drone of the copy machine, wasting ink on documents and Connor’s pretty face up against its scanner glass. Connor chews on the inside of his cheek, wonders how long he and Hank can hold out for, but his boss is right. They will have much more privacy in the office, in closed quarters, rather than here.

“Yes, sir,” Connor finally mumbles, but Hank does not yet let go.

“What was that? I don’t think I heard you right.”

Connor swallows shallowly. With an octave louder, he over-enunciates, “I said, ‘yes, sir.’”

“Good. I wouldn’t expect anything less from my secretary.”

And just like that, Hank pulls him up, releasing him. Connor stumbles to face Hank, and immediately his belly begins to burn from lust. His boss looks devastatingly gorgeous, even in the dim, fluorescent lighting of the building. When Hank starts to exit the room, Connor wills himself not to follow, and oh, it is worth it to watch Hank from behind. The way the older man’s meaty ass and thighs fill out those slacks he wears, he wants nothing more than to pounce him and…

There will be time for that later, Connor reminds himself. Right now, he has a task to complete, and he is adamant on executing it with perfect precision.

He counts to ten, timing his departure just right so he can slip down the hallway, towards the office elevator. The doors are halfway to closing when a grizzled hand sticks into the elevator, triggering its sensors and stopping it momentarily. It opens again for none other than Gavin Reed. Connor stifles a sigh. Things were going so smoothly up until now. Of all people, it just had to be _Gavin Reed_ to share the elevator with him.

It is not like he loathes Gavin, more that he does not care to put up with all the flack and jargon that Gavin likes to unload upon him whenever they are in the vicinity of each other. Connor would rather not talk at all than to endure a conversation- more a series of jeers- between Gavin and he. Unfortunately, his wish is too much a dream to be true, because Gavin eyes him with a screwed up snark upon his face.

“Hello, Gavin.” Connor chooses to go the neutral route, though he knows it will not stay neutral for long. He presses the button for the basement, waiting for Gavin to tell him which floor he needs to be on. Gavin puts up four fingers. Connor hits the Floor 4 button for him. “How was your weekend?”

Gavin, tried and true to his Gavin quality, scoffs at Connor, “What’s it to you?” He grimaces. So predictable. “It’s not like you’d get anything out of knowing how my weekend went. Not like you do when you’re with the boss.”

“What-” Connor’s pulse spikes at the mention of Hank. Now, that was uncalled for.

The elevator doors close then, concealing them in their own little shadow box as they descend. A chill runs through Connor’s being, if not spooked then a little shocked that Gavin would say anything about Hank… more specifically, Hank and _Connor_. Just what does he know about the two of them?

“You heard me, dipshit.” Like lightning, Gavin is chest to chest with Hank’s secretary, grey-green eyes glaring up at Connor’s brown, like he is a spider hanging from a web and Gavin has both the aerosol spray and cigarette lighter in hand. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to. You and Hank leave it blatantly out in the open, and it makes me sick to my stomach having to clean up after both of you. Hank was never like this until you came here. What kind of witchcraft did you lay onto him, huh? What makes you so special, that you can prance in and take advantage of Hank?”

Connor stares at Gavin, baffled. “Taking advantage of Hank? You really think that I’m bending him to my will?” And since when did Connor and Hank leave a mess that someone had to clean up after? He is sure that they are very careful about seeing each other, especially in the workplace.

Gavin sneers at him, “I’ll make sure he knows, and your little game stops the moment I tell.”

“My game?”

“Don’t make me repeat it, you bastard.”

Just then, the elevator dings, doors sliding open. They are at the basement; Connor’s stop. He is about to make a dash for it when Gavin fists his button-up shirt in his furious, scruffy hands, brows knitted so close together that Connor thinks they will become one.

“Not so fast,” Gavin hisses like a viperous snake. His face is bunched up in an ugly expression. “I _will_ take this up with Hank, Connor. Don’t think I won’t. You’re as good as gone when I do.”

Connor squashes down the anger down as soon as it arises. He must remain aloof, no matter how shaky Gavin’s words make him. No, he does not feel shaky. More: he feels disappointed that Gavin thinks he is taking control of Hank.

Glancing for an exit, he slaps away his coworker’s raging fists, darting smoothly through an open gap in Gavin’s stance. He does not understand. He thought Gavin hated Hank, so why the sudden change in character? Is Connor’s presence at the office a threat to a personal asset of Gavin’s, or something more?

“Hey, where are you going?” Gavin starts moving towards the exit of the elevator, but the doors are already closing. “Connor!”

“Sorry, I’ve got to jet, but I’ll miss our bromance when I’m gone.” Connor waves as the elevator shuts and lifts back up to deliver Gavin to his designated building floor, but not before the man begins cursing the air black and blue, threats filled with colorful words that do not bear repeating.

Finally, Connor is left alone, quiet shushing over him as he sighs. His heart pounds in his chest like a bird trapped in a cage. He needs to settle down, because from what Gavin had said, it seemed like he was only jealous of Connor’s hard work. There is no need to worry. Connor will just have to scale back a bit on his workload and encounters with Hank. No big deal.

Breathe in, breathe out. Connor closes his eyes for a quick moment to steady himself. He will talk to Hank about Gavin as soon as he grabs the briefcase Hank needs so much. Connor knows there is something in that case, something for _him_, and he cannot feel anything but curious about it.

The secretary pushes down the barb that rises and scrapes the back of his throat, composing himself once more. He cannot allow his emotions to overwhelm him right now. He still has to tell Hank about Gavin, but right now, he can indulge in a little something, can’t he?

Quickly, Connor accesses the safe. It is huge, more a walk-in vault than just a regular company safe for confidential documents and the like. Only Connor and Hank have the code to open it, given their positions. Connor types in the code that he has memorized:

**313 248 317 51**

The safe beeps then, more a trill than a generic pip, and unlocks itself. Connor turns the vault handle clockwise before pulling the safe door open. He steps inside. The place doesn’t look like it has changed much since the last time he stepped foot here. Previously, he and Hank had sneaked off to the safe for some privacy, too horny to abstain that day. They had gone at it for an hour during their lunch break, with Connor laid out on the island that now holds the briefcase he is assigned to obtain.

The flashback whips through his mind as he nibbles at his bottom lip, remembering how it felt. Warmth spreads into his cheeks and across his nose bridge, trickling down his spine and around his hips.

Before he grabs the suitcase of course, he decides to take a glance. On one hand, he probably should not go snooping. On the other, he knows Hank a little too well. Whatever is in there, Connor is going to find out sooner or later. Now might as well be the time to look inside.

The briefcase does not have a lock on it, surprisingly. What type of briefcase that Hank owns does not have one? Curiosity gets the better of him. Connor’s fingers fly over the clasps, flicking them up before prying the sides away from each other.

It falls open with a clack against the surface of the island table, revealing its contents; so confidential that it had to be stored in the safe. Connor’s brown eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets when he realizes what it is.

Fancy, triple-digit value lingerie spills out from the briefcase, looking so soft and lacy that Connor almost does not want to touch it. Hank bought this all for him, he thinks. He is flattered by the action, wants to try it on, but Gavin’s jeers have already planted seedlings of doubt in his mind. Still…

He shakes the thought out of his head. Once he talks to Hank, it will be okay. He has to believe it, or Gavin will get the best of him.

Ghosting his fingers over the lingerie, Connor gasps at how soft it is. He brings the lace between two fingers, inspecting the quality of it. Had Hank done the same when he picked it out for Connor? Had he studied it carefully, imagining Connor in it whilst browsing through other articles of bedroom attire? Had he dreamt of what he would do when Connor had it on, or would the clothes already be strewn across the floor in the few minutes of Connor wearing them?

Connor clenches his legs, rubbing his thighs together to give him temporary relief. He shivers in delight when he digs to find a pair of silky stockings. He flips the lace part inside out, surprised to see silicone, anti-slip strips at the edges. Clearly, these were made to stay _on_. Chuckling, he moves onto the next piece: a burgundy teddy with gold embellishments and a cut out where Connor’s diaphragm would be. Hank always had a thing for slightly immodest cut-outs in lingerie. He rolls his eyes, scanning over some of the loose files, which look haphazardly thrown in with the clothes. They’re filled with accounting numbers that Connor knows all too well. It is nothing new.

Peeking out of the vault, he leaves the door ajar; the last thing he wants is to lock himself in. Connor reaches for his tie then, slowly slipping it off from his neck. The buttons are popped next, one by one, just like how Hank would do it. Quick to get rid of his shirt, he also undoes the cuffs and shrugs off the clothing, eager to move onto his belt and pants. He wonders if Hank would want him to do this, or if Connor himself is taking initiative, to dress himself instead of waiting for further instruction from his boss.

Either way, he knows he is going to look spectacular in the items Hank has bought him. He always does.

Out of the corner of his eye, though, he notices something that glitters in the corner of the safe; something that Connor has not seen before. Taking a step back from what he was doing, he goes to investigate, delighted when he pulls out a pair of inky pumps from behind a shelf. They’re Louboutin, the design as distinguishable as day from night.

Had Hank wanted him to wear these, he would have included it with the lingerie. A wicked idea comes to him then, and he knows Hank is going to like it.

* * *

A knock comes from Hank Anderson’s office door. It is open, yet Connor still raps on the wood to nevertheless. He is the only one who does it, and therefore identifies himself before even saying a word.

“Come in,” Hank says, not bothering to look up from the paperwork he is filling out on the desk.

“Yes, sir.” Connor says.

Hank adds, “And close the door behind you.”

“Already done.”

Swiftly closing and locking the door behind him, Connor grins when Hank’s blue eyes are trained on his figure, aimed at him now instead of the contract papers.

“I got you that briefcase you asked for,” starts Connor. “But sir…” He trails off.

Hank quirks an eyebrow at him. “Yes?”

Clearing his throat, Connor continues, “But sir, I couldn’t help but take a look at what was inside.”

“What _was_ inside,” His boss repeats. He folds his hands together, elbows propped on the tabletop. “So you took out the contents, I presume.”

Hank’s voice is low, with that gravelly quality that Connor knows too well. It sends an aroused shiver over his vertebrae, and he closes his eyes as the man’s voice washes over him. It lights up his body, pours warm over his brain stem and down the long, slender branches of his nerves. In the center of his core, tinder grows into a lusty flame that he fuels with Hank’s words. Slowly, he sways towards the man, setting down the briefcase that holds nothing more than a few files of printed numbers and a surprise in front of Hank.

“Just the necessary materials I needed,” answers Connor. He cocks his head to the side, not unlike a dog. “I’m sure that shouldn’t be an issue.”

Hank sighs, the way he does whenever someone presents him a new deal at a business meeting. It is not one of disappointment or disgruntledness, Connor knows, more a sigh of pondering thought, where he weighs his options before making a decision to the best of his knowledge. So, Connor waits for Hank’s reaction.

“Would you shut the blinds for us, please?” Hank says, instead of addressing the metaphoric elephant in the room. He keeps his posture fixed, unwavering from the role he plays.

Connor is not expecting such a diversion from the subliminal topic he is trying to converse with Hank about, and he blinks a few times before refocusing.

“Of course,” he replies, moving towards the office windows that overlook the work cubicles. He reaches for the blinds’ wand, rolling it between his forefinger and thumb to shield Hank and he from the public eye of his coworkers, and to provide solitude in this small space called Hank’s office.

“Thank you.” Large, warm arms encircle Connor’s slim waist then, drawing a gasp from what feels like the mediastinum of his chest. Since when did his boss move from his chair? Hank whispers gruff and powerful, “Now tell me, Connor, you are currently in possession of the materials that came in this briefcase, are you not?”

Connor nods slowly. “I am, sir.”

“Good.” To Connor’s dismay, Hank releases him in favor to lean back in his seat, far away enough from the desk so Connor can stand in front of him. “Won’t you show me?”

“Show you?” Connor turns to face his boss.

Hank smirks. “Yes, Connor. I don’t have x-ray vision.”

Connor chuckles at that. “That you don’t,” he says playfully.

He plucks at the collar of his dress shirt, lets his hand trail down the expanse of his torso to finger at his belt. He is fully dressed, seemingly inconspicuous, but his boss knows better than to take things for what they are upon first glance. Hank’s ocean eyes bore into Connor’s chocolate as Connor saunters closer and closer until his knees bump against Hank’s own.

Connor leans in to leave a kiss on Hank’s cheek first, retreating to undo his clothing. Suddenly, Hank’s hand snaps out to catch Connor’s wrist, pulling him forward until they are flush up against each other.

“I thought you wanted me to show you,” the secretary quips, but he is not complaining.

“I do.” Hank is palming at Connor’s front. His palms smooth over the plains of Connor’s clothed body to land on his belt buckle. “But I want to do more than just watch.”

Refraining from catching oculogyric crisis, Connor angles his hips up into Hank’s touch, granting him access in expressed consent. Hank does not waver, getting to action immediately. Thick fingers finesse the clasp of the belt open, slipping the leather loose with relative ease. Connor cannot help but whimper when Hank rucks his shirt up, untucking it and dragging it upwards so he can catch the firm, silky material of Connor’s lingerie with his beard-framed lips.

Hank presses kisses to the area there, starting off chaste before gaining boldness and strength. From left to right, his lips osculate the creamy satin that conceals Connor’s flesh, trailing lower and lower, down to the waistband of his work slacks.

“Oh,” The secretary hooks both thumbs in the fabric of his pants, hips wiggling the slightest bit in anticipation as Hank continues to worship his flat belly. “Please.”

At that, Hank draws back, leaving Connor with a built-up whine just waiting to escape from his throat. “Please?” He inquires, “What are you pleading for?”

“Hank, I-”

But the boss interrupts him, “Connor. Manners.”

“I’m sorry.” Connor’s throat bobs. He tries again, more serious this time, “_Sir_, please, I need to show you.”

Hank peers up at him. “You need to show me?” He emphasizes on the word _need_. “Or perhaps you _want_ to show me what you’ve got under all your work clothes.”

He’s leading the scene, Connor thinks, and reroutes his focus to follow along. “I want to.” Connor’s eyes go half-lidded as he begins to slide the garments down his lengthy legs. “I want to show you, sir. Please, let me.”

“Then get to it.” With purposeful arms, Hank shoves Connor back, fixing him an expected stare. “We don’t have all day.”

So Connor _gets to it_, retrieving the briefcase once again, opening it to reveal those gaudy Louboutin heels and stockings. He grins wide like the Cheshire cat as he allows his pants to fall from his hips, letting his boxers do the same with a little shimmy. Stepping out of his trousers, Connor toes out of his business loafers. He grimaces slightly when he realizes he must take off his socks as well, knowing it will slow the process of giving Hank a real show, but his boss does not seem to mind. In fact, he stops Connor right there with a clearing of his throat.

Connor pauses mid-air. “Yes, H- sir?”

Hank pats his knee in request, “Allow me, Connor.”

It takes Connor a bit to process, but he obeys soon after, lifting his left foot to balance it open Hank’s thigh. He waits.

“Thank you,” Hank says warmly as his hands encircle Connor’s slim calf.

The man’s palms are so big that the gesture makes Connor feel so, _so_ small. Or maybe it is because Hank is simply so much larger than he, and the secretary knows that Hank could smother him just by covering him with his weight. At that thought, he feels himself drip down his thighs, arousal enticed by it.

What Hank does instead is take the man’s shoe off and set it to the floor. Then, he peels Connor’s sock from his foot slowly, noticing the way Connor’s breath hitches at the touch. Time seems to slow as Hank drops the first sock to the floor, thumbs running up and down Connor’s bare skin before setting his left leg aside. He reaches for the other, doing the same with the remaining shoe and sock.

“The stockings, Connor.” Like clockwork, his secretary hands him the pair of stockings from the briefcase. Hank takes Connor’s foot in his hand.

Connor exhales shakily, worrying his lips as he lets Hank do the work. It should not feel this good to have someone dress him. He tips his head back as he leans back on Hank’s desk, relishing each second.

When Hank is done sliding up the stocking on Connor’s leg, he adorns the man’s prominent patella with a kiss, and moves onto the next. Connor feels suspended by strings, strings that Hank puppeteers for him, but he would not have it any other way. The last silky piece encases his other leg, lips pecking it in the same place as the right one before trailing up, up, up along the top of Connor’s milky thigh.

“Spread them,” Hank commands. Connor makes space with his legs, exposing himself to the air, eyes flitting away from Hank’s face in the process. But Hank is too smart not to notice the way Connor’s cheeks light up red. “My face isn’t on the wall, Connor. Look at me.”

Tearing his gaze away from the drab office walls, Connor does everything in his might to keep focused on Hank’s handsome features. “Of course, sir.” He simpers, dragging fingers through Hank’s hair briefly. “This is quite the tre- ah!”

Connor forces his mouth to snap shut, concealing his outburst as three of Hank’s meaty fingers bypass his thighs for the main course. The digits bat away the thin material of the teddy to the side. They glide over his folds and teasing Connor, spreading the wetness there before diving between them, sensing and searching for the source of slickness. Hank pops one fingertip into the man, thumb tip crooking up to rub at Connor’s now pulsing sex.

“You’re drenched, baby,” Hank whispers huskily. “You haven’t even put on your expensive pumps and you’re already dripping for me.”

“I don’t need them to be dripping for you,” Connor replies, voice strained when Hank decides to flick his thumb back and forth along the raised pearl at the top of those dipping lips.

The secretary moans as he gives in to just receiving what Hank has to give him. His extremities are quivering, trembling from the direct pressure over his dick as Hank skillfully moves his finger in tandem, curling ever so slightly into the walls of Connor’s entrance.

“That’s my good boy,” Hank praises when a whine whittles its way out of Connor’s mouth. “You’re so velvety inside. Tight, too.” Connor shakes like a leaf from pleasure. “Do you want more?”

Like taking Hank’s offered hand to follow him along a path that is familiar yet never seems to get old, Connor agrees fervently, “Yes, yes. Give me more, Hank.” He still has half the mind to tack on a measly, “Please.”

Hank hums, ceasing his actions. “Maybe later, Con.”

“What?” Connor’s mind reels, body aching to continue. It feels like near whiplash, coming to a halt so quickly, but Hank has other plans.

“Maybe you should work a little before you get your reward,” implies Hank, sitting back in his chair like the boss he is.

Oh.

_Ohhh._

Quick like lightning, Connor springs at the start. He clambers upon Hank’s lap, sprawling on those long legs of his boss’ until his abdomen is flush with Hank’s gut. There is no music for him to dance to, so he will just have to make up a tune himself.

So, with a swivel of his hips, Connor begins to gyrate against Hank. He follows his internal rhythm, the _thu-thump, thu-thump_ of his heart pounding like an overpowering bass in his ears. He lets himself go, writhing over his boss like they are at a club rather than at work, inside Hank’s office. He is ruining the teddy that he is wearing, getting damper by the second as he takes careful care to grind himself along the meat of Hank’s thigh. His arms go up in the air, above his head as he dances with more vigor, looking at Hank through his long, thick lashes.

“That’s it.” Hank praises, “You’re so good at your work, baby.”

At that, Connor’s eyelid twitches a bit as Hank’s words remind him of Gavin’s little spat back down in the basement. He frowns slightly before saying, “That’s not what Gavin thinks.”

Hank holds Connor’s waist, kneading the flesh beneath the satin lingerie until the secretary slows his pace. “Gavin? Gavin’s giving you trouble again?” he asks. “What did Gavin say to you?”

Connor’s mouth twitches unsatisfactorily before he confesses, “Gavin thinks I’m taking advantage of you.” He pauses, trying to breathe. It does not calm the raging storm within him, the rush of alarm, of anxiety and fear that Gavin knows too much when Hank and Connor had been so careful not to allow anyone to know about their relationship. Does he know about him and Hank? He adds, “He thinks you favor me over anyone else and don’t give them a fair chance… because I’m the one who’s influencing you.”

Hank hums, sighs, then shifts in his seat to pull Connor down into a chaste kiss on the lips. “Does he know that we’re seeing each other?”

Connor shrugs. “I don’t know… god, Hank, what if he does?” He stares back at Hank with frightened eyes. “He said he felt, and I quote, ‘sick to his stomach’ cleaning up after us. We never left anything behind, did we? We’re always careful. But what if we weren’t? Hank, I-”

Anxiety and worry begins to swell up in his chest, flooding his thoracic cavity like a burst pipe in the basement. He is no longer dancing for Hank, too caught up in his emotions.

Hank cups Connor’s cheek then. “Shhh, now.” He murmurs, “It’s just Gavin, Connor.”

“I know.” Connor presses his lips in a fine line. “I know, but if _he_ knows…” There is a risk that he will spread the information, try to prove it with enough evidence to get both Hank and Connor in trouble. Even if Hank _is_ the boss, that is no excuse for their behavior. A scandal would break out concerning them, and it would more than likely ruin Hank’s reputation. Connor would be the one to blame for it, and he tells Hank as such.

“Hey, look at me.” Hank brings Connor’s chin between his fingers, smiling sympathetically when Connor visibly melts in his grasp. “Things are going to be okay. We will ensure it never blows up. If Gavin comes at you again, I will make sure he’s held accountable for his actions.” He swipes at Connor’s cheeks, wiping away phantom tears that are still welled in his secretary’s beautiful brown eyes. “Okay?”

Connor says after a moment, “... Okay.”

Hank pats Connor on the apple of his cheek before saying, “Alright. Now, off. Let me do this for you.” Puzzled by what Hank means, Connor does not question his boss, instead hopping off his lap to stand. “On the desk, Connor. You’re smaller than me, and I need leverage.” continues Hank.

That makes Connor laugh, a bit of the pressure from ten seconds ago lifting slightly. “Only because you’re so big.”

“Touche.” Hank gets to his knees, bullying Connor’s knees apart.

“What are you- oh!” Connor cries out a second too late. Hank’s head is a blur as he shoots straight for the man’s hole, mouth enveloping his mound like a warm cocoon.

Connor gasps in awe as Hank licks a long, wet stripe from his hole to the pearl nub of his dick. It feels exquisite, lust heightened when Hank moans at the man’s delicious taste. He sucks on the man’s dick, entranced by the way Connor writhes.

Connor clenches down as Hank’s tongue enters him, squirming against his walls, taking in each element of his flavor. A hand sneaks into Hank’s silvery hair, tugging gently at his locks like they are the only things keeping Connor grounded.

Hank groans against Connor at the extra stimulation, eyelashes fluttering over handsomely ages features. He fucks Connor nice and slow with his oral muscle. His slurps and Connor’s soft mewls are the only thing filling the room. The scrape of Hank’s beard chafes Connor in the best of ways, and he knows that he will be feeling it some short hours later. Worth it, considering what he gets out of it right now.

Pleasure replaces worry, inch by inch, in Connor’s head. He loves it when Hank eats him out, as the man is incredibly talented with his tongue. It feels so good, borderline like a tickle, but with more excitement, more lewdness, more roundness and fullness. Connor could surely come like this…

“Hank, sir. Hank..!” Connor tried to warn his boss, but the words are not coming to him fast enough.

A wave of orgasm crashed over Connor with little caution. He pants through it like a hound, tightening around Hank. His heels clack as his ankles cross behind Hank’s head. The fire in his belly flares hot and high before settling, singeing his edges as he holds onto Hank’s hair for dear life.

Hank draws a slightly-pained breath, taking one last taste when Connor lets him go with a sheepish smile. He says, “That good, eh?” 

Connor cannot do anything but sit in silence, his response already known just by looking at his posture.

Surging up, Hank reveals his erection, Connor’s gaze snapping directly to it as soon as it is presented. He strokes his huge, velvety cock, eyes trained on Connor’s flushed face.

“Not gonna last much longer if we keep up like this,” he confesses. “You already look so _wrecked_.”

Connor has half the mind to settle onto the table completely. With both hands, he keeps his stocking-clad thighs out of the way, tilting his hips upward to fully display himself to Hank. “So don’t,” he says raspily. “Don’t hold back. Fuck me, sir.”

Hank’s reaction comes faster than Connor expects. His boss lets out an animalistic growl, hands slapping the desk beside either one of Connor’s ears. Then, he is thrusting in.

In and in.

Deeper,

And deeper still, until Connor swears he can feel it in his stomach.

He scrunches up his face, whining, before smoothing out his expression. His moth is slack as his brain races with an overabundance of information his synapses are delivering in rapidfire. Hank has not even moved and Connor is close to bursting open again.

“So tight,” Hank hisses. As he starts a pace, the debauched squelch of their joining rings loud and clear in both his and Connor’s eardrums. “Yet, you’re so wet, baby.”

Though Connor can barely find it in him to talk, being so filled with Hank’s cock, he manages to whimper, “Always. Always for you.”

Desperately, he pulls Hank down for a kiss. They do not kiss so much as suck on each other’s tongues, mingling them together like they are attempting to do the tango. They meld lips as Hank’s hips start to piston, slowly at first, then faster with more merit and intent.

Connor wails into the kiss, muffled successfully by Hank’s whiskery mouth. Ecstasy courses through Connor, so strongly that he drools when Hank presses up against his cervix, piledriving in at a harsh rhythm. It feels like heaven; everything he wants and needs in his life. Forget Gavin, forget the world.

Their surroundings never truly go away, as they do their best to keep quiet in _Hank’s office_, but Connor’s attention is all on Hank and Hank only. The way Hank grunts when he thrusts in, inhaling on the pull out where only the tip of his dick remains inside Connor. And then he is slamming back to the hilt, punching every breathless moan from the secretary.

Connor’s eyes roll to the back of their sockets as Hank abuses the rough patch called sweet spot within him, fingers scrabbling at the desk for something, anything, to anchor him. His body’s pleasure capacity is almost filled to the brim, so close to spilling over…

“Don’t you dare come until I tell you to.” Hank’s voice cuts through the air. “Do I make myself clear?” Connor nods, not trusting his voice. “I want to hear you say it.” Hank clarifies, still pounding the man hard. He accentuates each of his words with a thrust, the next one more unforgiving than the last.

“Cr-crystal, sir-r,” Connor stutters out, thoughts muddled by the sheer feeling of being railed to oblivion.

He cannot promise he will not come, but says it anyway. Hank cannot stop now, especially not when Connor is so close to reaching his second orgasm of the day. By the looks of it, Hank is close to purchase himself.

“Such a good boy,” Hank praises him huskily.

Sweat drips off his bangs, much like melting icicles in crisp spring. He lifts one of Connor’s legs up and over his shoulder. He ruts faster, fucks harder, molars gritting as Connor bites into his own sleeve, dampening his voice with it. He drools into the fabric, knowing that there will be a stain after, but he cannot find it in him to care. Hank has him nearly bent in half, ramming into him unadulterated.

Heat rises, hot enough to sear the both of them alive. Connor knows the gel in his hair is completely ruined. Hank puffs above him, muscles stiffening, body making its way to release, until his restraint finally breaks, whole being snapping taut. Warmth rushes into Connor, so sticky and messy that the man’s eyes widen in surprise.

But Hank is not done yet. With his calloused fingers, he reaches for Connor’s slick cock, twitching and begging for attention between puffy, pink folds.

“Come.” That is all Hank has to say with a flick of his fingertips over Connor’s dick to make the man topple over the edge.

The universe bounds past him like it is winning a sprint, leaving him disoriented. Behind Connor’s eyelids, color bursts in firework patterns, creating a blueprint of the cosmos. His ears feel like they are stuffed with cotton, hearing stifled like he is pulled underwater. His mouth hangs open, lungs sucking oxygen into their lobes through his oropharynx. His limbs are limp like jelly as the ripple of orgasm subsides.

Hank slumps over him, just a bit, when Connor finally comes to. They lie there like that for a bit, Hank trying to catch his breath and Connor figuring out how to work his muscles again.

Connor mewls weakly when Hank finally slides out of him. Suddenly, the pressure inside him is no more, leaving him until he feels empty, like he did not know what it felt like _not_ to be filled to the brim. Carefully, he cups his mound with a hand, skin overly sensitive there.

“Sorry,” Hank apologizes, grabbing a few tissues from a desk drawer. He hands them to Connor, who takes them with thanks. “I should’ve pulled out.”

“And made a mess of my shirt or your floor? I don’t think so,” counters Connor, who is wiping the rivulets of cum dribbling from his hole.

Hank is about to reply when a knock comes from the door.

“Fuck!” Connor hisses. “Where are my pants?”

Chucking the wad of wet tissue into the trash bin, Connor clambers around to find his trousers. He jumps into them hastily, trying his damnedest to get his shoes on quick thereafter, and runs his fingers through his hair in order to straighten it out a bit. He closes and kicks aside the briefcase; he will deal with it later. All the while, Hank tucks himself back into his own pants, zipping and buttoning up. Then, he is walking towards the door, unlocking it and peering outside to see who requires his attention.

“What can I do for you, Gavin?” Hank says loud and clear, giving Connor enough time to scoot back Hank’s office chair and round the table so he stands on the opposite side. Hank swings the door wide open, like there was nothing going on just ten minutes ago.

Gavin surveys the room, eyes narrowing into mean slits when his glare passes over Connor’s figure. Hank clears his throat, diverting the man’s attention back on him.

“Is there something I can do for you, Gavin?” he repeats.

At that, Gavin seems to explode from his shell. “Yeah. Yeah, you can do something for me, Hank.” He marches past his and Connor’s boss, shoving a handful of papers to Hank’s chest.

Hank looks them over in his hands, studying them carefully before asking, “What’s this?”

“What do you think it is?” Gavin gnashes his teeth, pointing a finger at Connor, who watches in horror. “If that’s what your dipshit of a secretary is up to all day, he should be fired.”

“Gavin, what-” Connor speaks, but his coworker interrupts him.

“Don’t try to act innocent, Connor.” Gavin says, “I’ve already handed over the proof to Hank. He knows about your little prank in the copy room.”

“In the copy room?” Now, Connor is genuinely confused. He is sure no one was there except for Hank and him this morning.

All of a sudden, Hank laughs, turning both Connor’s and Gavin’s heads toward him at the same time. He bellows, laughing from his belly as he holds out the papers that Gavin had thrown at him. On them are Connor’s face, smooshed and distorted in black ink from being copied by the printer machine. Connor remembers being pressed up against the copy glass, held there as Hank asserted dominance over him before giving him the task of retrieving the briefcase. Hank and he had forgotten to take the documents Hank was scanning, leaving it on the machine for someone as unfortunate as Gavin to pick it up for them.

“What the hell is so funny?” A dark cast overcomes Gavin’s face, furious as Hank tries to tone his laughter into quiet giggles.

“Sorry, it’s just…” Hank restarts his breathing, trying to get a grip on himself. “Gavin, this was a mistake.”

“Fuck yeah, it’s a mistake.” Gavin exclaims. “Connor should be fired!”

But Hank just shakes his head at his employee. “That’s not what I meant by mistake. This was my fault. In the copy room, I accidentally bumped Connor, who didn’t have his best balance at the time. It was bad timing, and the copy machine reflects it clearly on these papers.”

Gavin opens his mouth, shuts it, then opens it again, but not a sound comes from him. The expression on his face is dumbfoundment, so unbelievably in disbelief that it turns slowly into shame and anger. Connor watches as the man’s face changes hue, turning pinker and ruddier until he is as red as a cherry.

“So, there’s nothing to be concerned about,” continues Hank, plucking out the papers he needs from the pile, and hands them back to Gavin. “Do you have anything else you’d like to show me, or may I finish up my meeting with Connor about his work performance?”

“You- he… his work performance?” Gavin sputters.

“Yes,” says Hank. “Now, if you don’t mind closing the door after you, I will talk to _you_ about your performance too, in just a minute.”

Gavin is as pale as a sheet. When he cannot think of anything to say, Gavin does just what Hank asked of him, leaving his boss’ office with the door closed behind him.

Connor breathes out a sigh of relief. “Hank, that was uncalled for.” he says nonetheless.

Hank is the one to roll his eyes. “Gavin is being a douchebag to everyone lately. It’s unfortunate that you were the one to receive the brunt of his bad behavior, but this couldn’t be better timing. You know I don’t accept that type of attitude in my workplace.”

“I know, I know.” Hank stands in front of Connor now, bending down to rub noses with Connor, who smiles gently. “I love you,” says Connor. He means it. Even if they were so close to being caught, he is still deeply committed to Hank.

“I love you, too.” Hank stops brushing noses with his partner to kiss him on the lips. “Are you still leaking my cum in your pants?”

Connor draws back with a grin. “Hank! That’s lewd. I thought we were having a moment.”

Hank chuckles, “Oh, but we _are_ having a moment.”

After everything that happened today, Connor supposes that yeah, they really are having a moment here, happy and smiling in Hank’s office with love swirling in their hearts. Connor would not have it any other way.

“I suppose we are.” Connor embraces Hank, ear pressed up against the man’s chest to hear his steady heartbeat. “I really suppose we are.”

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me @ra9ical on twit, and I'll see you around. ;)


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